


a heart that offends

by anxiouslyawaiting



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouslyawaiting/pseuds/anxiouslyawaiting
Summary: He realizes that all this time, the years of co-dependency -heneeded it, not Mac. Never Mac.





	a heart that offends

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the following Dennis quote from 7x01 - "Somebody needs to take care of Mac, and that's gonna be me." Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://softdennis.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title taken from "John My Beloved" by Sufjan Stevens.

They’re 19 and Dennis is home for Christmas and he finds himself waking up that morning nestled under three layers of blankets, Mac’s arms wrapped tightly around his bony frame. He can feel Mac’s nose gently pressed against the nape of his neck, the warm puffs of Mac’s breath raising goosebumps along his skin.

He can’t recall how he ended up there - all he remembers is an inordinate amount of alcohol from the night before, really potent stuff that he had smuggled back home from his fraternity house. Despite his throbbing temples and pounding headache, the hangover is completely worth it - he’s so close that he feels each rise and fall of Mac’s chest, his slow, peaceful heartbeat pulsing underneath his soft sleeveless tee.

He can hear Mac beginning to stir awake, and he quickly tries to roll over and free himself from Mac’s tight grip, not quite ready for an early morning Catholic guilt-ridden monologue from him.

Instead, he hears Mac groan, “Oh, dude, I feel like I’m dead.”

Dennis looks over his shoulder to find Mac grimacing, his dark hair sticking out in little tufts going in every imaginable direction. He looks incredibly small and delicate, and Dennis is overcome with a sudden urge to wrap him up in his blankets and never let him out of his sight ever again.

“I’ll get you some water and an aspirin, you big baby.”

He’ll never admit it out loud, but the small smile of appreciation that Mac gives him in response would be the best Christmas present he gets that year.

* * *

 

They’re 25 and celebrating the grand opening of Paddy’s Irish Pub - a bar they can call their own! - when Mac gets socked in the face by one of their first patrons. Dennis is holding a bag of ice against the quickly purpling skin of Mac’s jawline, trying his best to conceal his burgeoning smile.

“You know, I can take care of myself, dude,” he says after a minute, putting the ice aside and replacing it with his fingertips.

“I was defending your honor,” Mac replies weakly, leaning into Dennis’s hand. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

At the mention of his honor, his cheeks heat up so quickly from blushing that Dennis actually feels faint for a brief moment. “That’s really sweet, Mac,” he musters, once he finds his voice again, “but did you honestly think you could take this guy? He was twice your size.”

“He called you a fag.” The underlying venom cutting through Mac’s voice sends a little thrill up his spine.

_He wasn’t entirely wrong about that_ , Dennis thinks, and the desire to lean down and lightly press his lips against the largest of Mac’s bruises, blazing an angry shade of red-violet, is overwhelming. Instead, he gently reapplies the ice on Mac’s jaw, pretending that the soft sighs of relief coming from the other man are meant for him.

* * *

 

They’re 30 when they get held hostage and Mac tells him he loves him.

He doesn’t believe it for one second. He minored in Psychology; he knows that people will say all sorts of empty nothings when thrown into dire life-or-death situations. And above all, who could love someone like him, someone who can’t even stand the sight of himself on most days?

So he says nothing, feigning confusion as he looks at Mac, silencing the other part of him inside that’s itching to spill reciprocation.

He never mentions it afterwards, not even as he’s helping Mac out of his damp bathrobe to check for cuts and bruises, standing so close to the other man that he can see every detail of his stupid tattoos, every droplet of sweat rolling down his skin.

“You look fine,” is his final verdict. “Make sure you drink a lot of water for the next few days. You’re sweating like a goddamn pig.”

_I love you, too_ , he adds in his head.

* * *

 

They’re 35, Dennis no longer eats lunch, and Mac has really let himself go.

Well, at least that’s what Dennis wants the gang to think. If he’s being honest with himself, the outline of Mac’s hanging belly through his tight tees is almost as pleasing as the more subtle outline of his abs, back when he still had them.

But there’s a bigger opportunity here than just enjoying the view of his roommate sloppily gorging himself to death. Mac’s thumbing at some spilled salsa on his shirt - a remnant of what was easily his fifth or sixth chimichanga of the day - when Dennis loudly declares, “Somebody needs to take care of Mac, and that’s gonna be me.”

The next several months are a flurry of doctor visits, constantly making sure Mac is taking his insulin, carefully regulating his food intake, and, eventually, scoring some “diet pills” when the novelty of Mac’s fatness finally wears off.

It’s the busiest (and happiest) he’s been in a long, long time.

* * *

 

They’re 40 and Mac comes out of the closet.

He gets Dennis a rocket launcher for Valentine’s Day two weeks later, and Dennis feels a little bit like one, too, his heart on the verge of launching right out of his chest at any moment.

“It’s perfect,” he says shakily. _You’re perfect_ , he means.

Another two weeks pass, and suddenly Mac is his boyfriend, but the reality doesn’t even come close to any of the fantasies he’s concocted in his mind over the years. It’s all an act.

He’s dreamt of being held by Mac countless times, but as he’s being led to their old shared apartment, Mac’s fingers tightly interlocked with his, he feels like everything has somehow been reversed. That despite the decades of effort he’s put in to look out for Mac and allow him to flourish, maybe Mac was never the one who needed it in the first place.

He takes in the furniture, the decoration - they’re all near-perfect duplicates from the past - and he realizes that all this time, the years of codependency - he needed it, not Mac. Never Mac.

He does the only logical thing to do - he leaves.

* * *

 

They’re still 40, and North Dakota hasn’t been kind to him. So he comes home.

He lies to himself and pretends that there’s more than one reason for his return, but when he sees Mac at the airport, smiling earnestly and holding up a handmade sign with his name on it - everything he ever knew and felt all converges onto one fixed point, and it’s Mac. It’s always been Mac.

“I’ll look after you, baby boy,” he reverently whispers that night, hugging Mac’s arm to his chest as the other man snores into his hair. “And I’ll let you look after me, too.”


End file.
